The Thinnest Strand
by Cheryl W
Summary: After El's rescue, when Peter and Neal's ties are nearly severed, they come to discover the true strength of their friendship. No Slash.
1. Chapter 1: Elevator

The Thinnest Strand

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neal, or Peter or any rights to White Collar, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Well I penned this first chapter back when my muse and I were on speaking terms. I'm dusting it off now before the season resumes and it turns totally AU.

Summary: After El's rescue, when Peter and Neal's ties are nearly severed, they come to discover the true strength of their friendship. No Slash.

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Chapter 1: Elevator

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Sometimes fate is heartless, that's what Neal Caffery thinks when the elevator slides to a halt and none other than Peter Burke is standing there waiting for a ride. For an instant, their eyes meet before Neal's drop to the floor of the elevator. He can not bear to see the anger, disappointment, disgust in his one-time friend's eyes, never again.

So it's Peter's shoes that bear his inspection. New shoes. That distracts Neal for a little while, the thought that Peter broke down and bought new shoes. The man who was wearing the same suit both times he caught him. Thrifty was one of Peter's favorite things about himself. '_Maybe he's not thrifty anymore. Maybe he's living large now that his career isn't hanging in the balance because some convict on a leash was threatening to end his career in one careless, selfish act. Well, that might be the one good thing that came out of this: Peter finally caring about fashion_.'

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Whatever Peter Burke thought he would feel when he saw Neal Caffery again, it wasn't this. Wasn't this punched in the gut, winded feeling. Goodness knows it wasn't because Neal held his eye contact. No, the man's blue eyes were skittering away before it barely registered they had landed on him. And now, Caffery was as still as one of his clay statues, his head bowed, his hat obscuring what his pose did not.

They were strangers sharing an elevator, worse, people who felt like strangers but who would never be. No matter what had happened, he knew Neal Caffery. Knew his favorite drink, the expression he wore when he was forced to do something he didn't want to, the look in his eyes when he was scared. A look that was in the blue eyes he barely had the chance to glimpse.

'_Neal's not afraid of me_,' Peter scoffed at his wonky conclusion. A lot had happened between him and Neal, unforgiveable things, maybe, but that didn't mean that Neal thought he would hurt him. Even at the realization that Keller had kidnapped El because of Neal's lies, even when his whole world was shattering because of the kid's con games, he hadn't laid a hand on Neal. Not a punch, not even a rough shove. Had not touched him at all.

Peter frowned at that. It was true, he hadn't touched Neal. Not in anger….or in kindness, had not grabbed the younger man's arm when he stumbled after the blow to the head he had gotten in his scuffle with Keller for the gun. And not when he had been handcuffed and pushed into the back of a FBI Ford for questioning and for one in-depth inquisition of why he went off his anklet. Albeit that his going AWOL had resulted in El's safe return and Keller's capture.

'_El wouldn't have been in danger if it weren't for Neal, for his greed, his addiction to pulling a con job even on the people who cared about him most,_' Peter bitterly defended his own stoic addition to the inquisition. Like his wife had said, it was Neal's mess and he had to clean it up. '_And yet El and I got dragged right into it. El got hurt_.' He didn't want to acknowledge that El would have been hurt worse, maybe killed if Caffery hadn't faced off with Keller, been willing to sacrifice his life for his wife's.

For that act alone, Peter knew he had to say something to Caffrey, if only it were the last thing he said to the man he once affectionately thought of as younger brother, a surrogate son. But as he turned around, opened his mouth to begin, the elevator came to a halt and the doors opened. And just like the smooth operator he was, Caffrey maneuvered by him without making eye contact or touching him.

Knowing that this was the 'now or never' moment, Peter reached out, intended to snag Neal's arm. But Caffrey, sensing his intent, skittishly jerked away, hastily retreated until his back slammed into the open elevator doors and then he slipped out the door, his eyes never raising to Peter's.

As the doors shut, at his last glimpse of Neal was the well-tailored back of his suit, Peter closed his eyes in anguish, in confusion. He couldn't trust Neal, he couldn't work with Neal anymore, couldn't pretend that everything that had happened could be forgiven.

'_Then why do I feel like the bad guy. Why do I suddenly hate the job I used to love. Why do I miss the guy that's given me nothing but heartbreak?'_ But he couldn't let that lie stand. '_It's not been all heartbreak and you know it. And that's the problem. He's the best friend I've ever had, the only friend of mine that El even tolerates, the smartest, most loyal partner an agent could ask for_. _And, no matter what he's done, I miss him. Really miss him_.'

Stepping off onto the White Collar Crime floor, Peter Burke didn't offer one good morning, didn't even raise his head from his shoes. New shoes that were killing his feet, shoes that he wouldn't have needed if he hadn't taken a five hour stroll in the downpour over the weekend, trying to figure out if he had done the right thing in refusing to continue to work with Neal, of letting the Organized Crime Unit throw Neal to the wolves anytime they needed an undercover operative, of not just sending the conman packing back to his cell. And seeing Caffrey today, it didn't make any of it clearer, only ended up muddying the water further. But then again, making Peter second guess himself, that was just who Neal Caffrey was.

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Tbc

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Thanks for reading and I would love to know if you want more. I have the storyline planned out in my head, sort of, but I need some feedback to see if I'm got anybody's interest. Also, there is a good chance this story will NOT be finished before the new season starts and therefore will be going AU. Hope that's OK.

Have a great evening!

Cheryl W.


	2. Chapter 2: Water Cooler

The Thinnest Strand

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neal, or Peter or any rights to White Collar, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: I so loved all the interest in this story and the wonderful compliments so I'm trying to return your kindness with another chapter. This story will probably be a bunch of one shot scenes that piece together in the end.

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Chapter 2: Water Cooler

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Peter Burke isn't someone who listens to gossip, takes part in the backbiting that seems inevitable when a clash of personalities are thrown together. He wouldn't even be on a floor that wasn't White Collar Unit except for one thing: their coffee machine gave up the ghost the previous night.

'_And there's no Neal around to relegate to coffee boy_,' his betraying little voice pipes in, bringing both a smile and scowl to his eyes. For all the times Neal had complained that getting coffee was beneath him, he always made Peter the perfect cup, just the way he liked it, even offered to run out and get him a French Blend around the corner of the block.

Slamming the lid on those fond but bygone memories, Peter poured himself a cup of black coffee whose aroma nearly singed his nose hairs. He was about to make his exit to the elevators when the voices from the other side of the wall reached him, namely the mention of a particular name.

"I thought Caffrey's number was up,"

Peter felt his heart drop to his new shoes at the statement from a voice he recognized as belonging to a member of the Organized Crimes Unit. Silently reassured himself, '_He said he __thought__ Neal's number was up, not that it was. Neal's Ok. Neal's Ok,_' he nearly chanted inside his head.

Then the other man was continuing with his tale, humor coating his words but his tone hinted at the respect he had for his unit's new CI. "He was taking a beating but he never even bothered to choke out the safe word, so you know how Ruiz runs our unit, he doesn't go in 'less he has to and with Caffrey, he barely goes in then."

Peter cursed silently. When Hughes had told him Caffrey would be transferred to Organized Crimes, he had wanted to protest but he ruthlessly…and foolishly convinced himself that Ruiz wouldn't think of Neal as expendable. That the man wasn't that much of a heartless jerk. '_You're wrong again. Like you have been about so many things lately_,' he chastised himself before focusing again on the conversation on the other side of the wall.

"Well, me, I'm thinking that the next sound to echo in the surveillance van will be a gunshot."

Peter broke out on a cold sweat, could hear the rushing in his ears that muffled the man's next words.

"But you know what that the cocky SOB did? He _talked_ his way out of eating a bullet."

'_That's my boy_,' Peter proudly thought but his pleasure was short lived.

"And not with compliments, not Caffrey. He _taunted_ the guy to shoot him was shouting "Pull the trigger! Go ahead!"

Peter sat his coffee cup down, did it before he crushed it in his hand. '_Neal would never, had never, this isn't Neal's style…_' but before he could come to terms with the Neal he knew and the Neal the other agent was talking about, the agent was finishing up his tale.

"But then, cold as you like it, Caffrey cockily says, "Good luck on finding another smuggler with my connections. I wonder how forgiving your boss will be when his goods are confiscated before they even leave the harbor."

Then the voices faded away as the man and his companion walked away from the water cooler, unknowingly leaving behind a shaken Peter Burke.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and again also for the people who reviewed and put this story as favorites and put it on your alerts!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	3. Chapter 3: The 20th Floor

The Thinnest Strand

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neal, or Peter or any rights to White Collar, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Just so you know, this chapter is longer than the previous ones. Hope you enjoy….

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Chapter 3: The 20th floor

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'_Wherever you are, Mozzie, I wish I was with you_,' Neal wistfully admitted as he added another folder to the meager stack of completed files on his desk. But calling his workspace a "desk", that was too generous a word. It was more a card table tucked away behind the file cabinets, somewhere that no one had to look at him. It seemed that Ruiz, the agent in charge of Organized Crime Unit, thought it was a dirty little secret to have a "pet convict" on his premises.

In the White Collar Unit, Neal's desk had been front and center. Leaving him the first person everyone saw when they entered the floor and the last person as they left. All that time he had thought Peter had put him there so he could keep an eye on him from his office. But now Neal knew that hadn't been all of it. Peter could have just as easily stuffed him in the claustrophobic area off the small kitchenette. There he would have been in Burke's line sight with the bonus that no one would have had to acknowledge his presence, visitor or team member alike. The fact that he hadn't, had instead put him somewhere very visible, Peter had sent his unit an unmistakably clear message: Caffrey is to be respected as one of our own.

Ruiz's message? It was on the opposite end of that spectrum and his team members have only been too glad to match their leader's disdain and downright dislike of him.

Accepting his fate, Neal grabbed another file from the towering stack of uncompleted reports. Since Ruiz had told him that he couldn't leave until the files were done, he knew it likely that he would have to work through the night. And Ruiz was just mean spirited enough to hang around to make sure he followed his directive. Honestly, given the choice, Neal would have rather been working on his undercover assignment, would have agreed to take another beating than face the prospect of dying of boredom.

For the thousandth time, he cursed himself for choosing the wrong path, for thinking that he had a life here worth staying for, worth giving up the biggest score he had ever seen. He had sentimentally clung to the relationship he had with Peter, had willingly and irrevocably cut his ties with Mozzie. Had thought that his friendship with Peter wouldn't turn out like all the rest of his alliances – Badly. Kate had died, Adler had tried to kill him, Mozzie had basically called him a fool for the choice he was making (and seemingly, rightfully so) and Peter…Peter hated him. And Neal wished to God that he could blame him.

Running a hand through his hair, Neal winced as it made contact with the lump on his forehead, just one of many keepsakes he had from his current assignment as a smuggler for hire. Keepsakes that were hindering his usual fashion because the tenderness and swelling high on his brow made wearing his hat a painful prospect, and the bruises marring his face put a damper on his smile's ability to charm. Of course charm hadn't worked yet with his new teammates and that was before he looked like he had lost a boxing bout.

It wasn't like he felt much like wearing his hat anyways. He was a power dresser, the sharper he dressed, the more confident he felt. But that only worked during the best of his days…and these days, they have been far from his best. Have, in fact, been some of his worst…and that might include after Kate's death and his jail term.

June had refused to take her husband's wardrobe back, though Neal had had it all dry cleaned and hanging in the closet, ready for her. And the way she had looked at him when told her he was moving out…. He hadn't been strong enough to tell her the truth, not under her heartbroken entreaty for him to stay. Instead, he had laid the blame for his departure on his new boss, said that Ruiz had ordered him to move out. In truth, Neal doubted that Ruiz even knew where his two mile radius was, let alone where he lived.

It was for the best that he go it alone from here on out. For everyone's sake.

Even the grungy Empire motel's resident flea bitten dog had steered clear of him the whole two weeks he had been there. That said a lot about how his companionship rated, even in the animal world.

He startled as his phone rang, that piece of office equipment the only concession Ruiz had willingly made of Neal's requirements for his work space. But Neal suspected that was only so the man without have to suffer through any direct contact with him, could call him up and bark out his orders from his office. Presuming that his "boss" was looking to bury him under with another coma-inducing task, he began to reach for the phone.

But the caller ID, it didn't read "Ruiz."

It read "Burke".

Neal's hand froze half way to the phone. Peter doesn't call him, Peter doesn't _talk_ to him. He and Peter hadn't even _looked_ at each other in the elevator that they had shared last week. Scenarios flittering through Caffrey's head, he wondered if Peter had requested that he be the one to tell him he was being carted back to prison.

Gut churning, Neal fisted his hand then hastily grabbed the phone.

"Organized Crimes," he generically greeted, hoped that, if Peter had misdialed, he could transfer him before Peter knew he had been forced to speak with the man that had nearly gotten his wife killed.

"Neal, conference room on the 20th floor. Now!" Peter Burke's voice ordered across the phone lines.

And as much as Neal had wanted Peter to just talk to him, he knew by his former partner's tone that whatever Peter had to say to him right then, it would be worse than the silence.

"Ruiz has me working on things right now Peter…" Neal began his excuse, knew that a betraying thread of fear had slipped into his words.

"Meet me there or I'm coming to you right now," Peter bit out his ultimatum in his no nonsense tone.

Neal knew that, as much as his name was mud already in his new unit, if Peter came up and aired out their dirty laundry, he would never gain the trust of anyone in this new unit. Not after they learned that his deception, his greed had gotten an FBI agent's wife kidnapped. If they found that out, he could scream a million safe words when things went south when he was undercover and his teammates wouldn't come to his rescue.

"Fine," he agreed reluctantly, after all it wasn't like he hadn't expecting this day to come, for Peter's restraint to crumble, that his former friend's quiet fury would manifest itself in more volatile ways sooner or later. And apparently it was going to be sooner.

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Peter couldn't help but pace in the deserted conference room, his eyes looking out the glass partition to the elevators, waiting. There would be no spectators to this tête-à-tête, not since the accounting department had been placed off site, leaving the 20th floor vacant. And even now, part of him protested what he was about to do, but the other part of him, the part of him that had absently abandoned his borrowed coffee, stalked back to his office and promptly dialed Neal's number, was stronger. Much stronger.

When the elevator dinged, he stilled, and as confident as he was that he was prepared to face Neal, he was still startled by the raw cuts and vivid bruises on the younger man's face. He came flying out of the conference room even before Neal had officially stepped onto the floor.

"That all happened today?" Peter demanded, his voice choked with outrage, horror.

Hiding his anxiety behind his verbal flippancy, Neal brazenly replied,"All in the line of duty," with a smile that actually hurt, pulled on abused skin and muscles. And, for a moment, he believed he saw a flash of sympathy in the eyes he once knew how to read. '_That's just what you want to see, not what's there,_' he chastised himself.

"So did you come here to gloat over another Neal Caffrey loss?" Neal challenged, had to regain his balance, to prove to himself that he could survive Peter's disappointment, didn't need the older man's acceptance.

Neal's words cut across Peter's heart, make him fall silent before he could form a reply. "You really think I _enjoy_ seeing you hurt?" He was more wounded, surprised than angry, couldn't believe that, no matter what had happened between them, Neal didn't know that he wouldn't wish anything bad to happen to him.

Trying hard to not read more into Peter's words than the other man meant, Neal slipped his hands in his pockets, stood up straighter, demanded, "Then why are we here, Peter?"

As Peter stepped closer, Neal tensed, almost retreated from him. Noting Neal's response to his closeness, Peter fought the urge to grab onto Neal's lapels so he could ensure that the younger man didn't make his escape like he did in the elevator. But then he watched Neal transform into the self-assured conman, the way his stance turned cocky and his eyes went dark as they held his, offered up a challenge for him to do his worst. But more than that, Neal _expected_ him to do his worse.

Shaken at Neal's belief that he would hurt him, Peter let his hands fall to his side, but didn't step back, wouldn't give Neal more space, knew only too well what the kid always did whenever he gave him slack on his leash. '_Gets himself all tangled up in trouble, that's what.'_

Feigning impatience where there was dread, Neal harshly prodded, "I have work to do, so if you have something to say, say it Peter."

Meeting Neal's gaze head on, Peter's words were a mix of angry urgency, "We're here so I can knock some sense into you! I heard about the crap you pulled last night, that you refused to call in your team, that you were provoking some mob muscle man to switch up using your face as his punching bag and just shoot you."

Neal paled, hadn't thought any of that would get back to Peter. Honestly, the odds that he would be alive to worry _what_ Peter thought of him today, it had seemed pretty slim from his vantage point the prior night. And in that moment, it had seemed a relief, an escape, to not have to worry about tomorrow, to not have to continue to pay for his mistakes, to get free of the prison Mozzie claimed that he was in, a prison he hadn't seen the bars of, not until it was too late. Way too late.

Rebounding from his lapse of emotional instability, Neal gave a bawdy smile, "So you heard about Gary Rydell's performance," speaking about his alias in the third person. "I think that I earned some points with Ruiz with that. We took the guy down, you know. Maybe you didn't hear that part of the story," he stressed testily, needed Peter to know that he still knew how to do the job, close a case.

Agitatedly, Peter spun around, paced away a few steps before he turned back to face Neal, ran his hands over his mouth. He couldn't believe Neal thought the ends justified the means. "Yeah, earning some points with Ruiz, oh, that's worth your life," he sarcastically tossed back before he closed the distance he had put between he and the CI. "Neal, Ruiz doesn't care if you don't make it out of an undercover assignment!"

"He doesn't care about the paperwork generated from losing a CI like you do, huh?" Neal teased back but his voice was too tight to pull off the levity and immediately Peter's eyes flashed with anger.

"He won't have your back when you do reckless, stupid stunts like I…." Peter broke off, paled but Caffrey knew what he had almost said.

"Like you do. Oops, I mean like you did," Neal harshly spit out.

Immediately Peter retaliated, finger accusingly pointing at Caffrey. "You screwed up what we had, not me!"

Neal fell silent, knew he deserved the condemnation, but then suddenly he was angry too. "So what? You called me down here just to tell me that, tell me that you made a mistake by giving me a second chance?," he snapped. "Seems like you wasted both of our times," he undertoned as he began to brush by Peter and head for the elevator but Peter grabbed his arm, stopped his escape.

Fighting to temper his own raging emotions, Peter tightened his grip on Neal's arm, could feel the younger man's taut arm muscles under his grip, knew that Neal was close to losing control. They both were.

Being that close to Neal, Peter could also see the physical pain slipping through the conman's mask. Neal was hurt. '_And I'm only hurting him worse_.' That was the last thing Peter had wanted to do.

Slowly releasing Neal's arm, Peter meet his friend's eyes, carefully said, "Neal, I called you down here to see if you were ok," man enough and worried enough to admit his true motives, well at least some of them.

Not falling for whatever game Peter was playing, Neal snapped, "I'm fine," and started again to walk away but suddenly Peter was in his path, fury in his expression.

"Yeah, you're fine," Peter sarcastically accused. "No, what you were was **reckless**! I've seen some of your stunts first hand, so I know …. But what you did last night…."

"I kept my cover," Neal shot back, his voice turning more stringent as he continued. "I did my _job_, was the good little pet convict Ruiz needed me to be!"

Standing toe to toe with Neal, Peter nearly shouted in the younger man's face. "No bust was worth your life, Neal! I thought I taught you that!"

"Wow, what a great mentor you are," Neal drawled disdainfully, knew that Peter remembered his disparaging definition of a mentor by the dark hue of his eyes. "Well, I taught **myself** how to survive, the streets and the maximum security prison you put me in. So save your worried, heart to heart chats for your next CI," Neal threw out as he stepped around Peter and stalked for the elevator.

"Well then start using those impressive survival skills of yours!" Peter threw at Caffrey's back. "Start acting like you care about staying alive!"

Neal didn't turn around, returned Peter's outcry with silence and then disappeared behind the elevator doors.

Cursing, Peter paced the empty floor, didn't know how his good intended pep talk had ended up doing more damage than good. Had never thought Neal would resent him for showing his worry, would find a way to be even more reckless with his life than he had been time after time under Peter's terrified watch.

Unbidden, his father's words from twenty some years ago came to Peter.

"_Believe it or not, Peter, I set these rules to protect you, so you won't get hurt. So you can hate my rules, you can even hate me, but you can't stop me from making my priority keeping you safe."_

"Safe," Peter hollowly whispered, that was where he was failing in leaps and bounds. He hadn't kept El safe and now Neal….Neal was merrily _taunting_ mobsters to kill him. His father would have thought it fair payback, that his son had a charge under his care who loved to rail against every single rule that existed for his safety, that it was just desserts, that Peter have a son just like him.

'_But Neal's a thousand times worse than I ever was_…' Peter protested, didn't even realize the comparison he was making. Not until he was half way home that night.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for your encouraging reviews you gave for the last chapter!

Well, there are only a few more days until the 17th and our White Collar season continues. Whoo hoo! I'm not making any promises that this story will be wrapped up by then but with more of your wonderful supportive reviews, I'm hoping to get another update to you before Tuesday at least.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	4. Chapter 4: Motel

The Thinnest Strand

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neal, or Peter or any rights to White Collar, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Not sure how this chapter turned out. I kept rewriting it but I think this is as good as I can get it. Hope it's ok.

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Chapter 4: Motel

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Elizabeth Burke hadn't thought that she would _ever_ step into a motel like this one. It just came to show the unexpected places love took you. As she made her way down the dingy carpet, through the corridor of stained walls, she still didn't know what she would say once she got to that door and knocked.

Before, she would have known. Her words would have been firm, clear. But not now, not after he wasn't at June's. _Moved out, hasn't called, tried to tell me his boss ordered him to cut the ties with me but I know better_…June had tried to say the words without her heartbreak slipping out but had been unsuccessful. Nor could she keep her eyes from welling, that one tear from slipping free, causing Elizabeth to reach for her hand and give it a squeeze.

If anyone knew what it was like to suddenly find your life bereave of Neal Caffrey and come to the sharp knowledge of just how much your life was what it _was_ because of him….she did. **Peter** did.

But there had been more that she didn't know, like Mozzie's marked absence. Not just around June's home, in Neal's life. Caffrey's eccentric but fervently loyal accomplice had apparently picked up and moved on. Left New York and his best friend behind. A month ago. Right before Keller kidnapped her, changed everything, hurt everyone that she cared about. Hurt her _family_, as incongruent as the honorary members seemed to be.

Neal had told June that Mozzie wasn't coming back. Elizabeth hadn't needed June to tell her how anguished Neal's declaration of that fact would have been. She had heard that tone from the man before: when he rescued her, knelt down beside her and gently freed her of the cuffs Keller had put her in, quietly said, "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I never meant for you to be in danger, get hurt," before handing her a phone, a phone that was already ringing. Then her husband's voice was there but harsher, crueler than she had ever heard it, "Caffrey, we have nothing to talk about unless you know where…."

"Peter, it's me. I'm Ok," she had cut it, hadn't wanted to hear the rest, didn't need to.

Shaking off the memories, Elizabeth came to a stop in front of the door of the room the front desk had directed her to. But she still didn't know what she would say. She had thought she knew how to get through to Neal, but that was the charming, self-confident con man. Not the man who had walked out on June, had tried to give back the suits he wore with such pleasure, the man who no longer schemed with Mozzie, or even tried to win Peter's loyalty back. That Neal… she didn't know.

Hand raised, hovering over the door, she took in a shaking breath. Though Neal hadn't had Peter or her in his life for the past month, she had comforted herself that he wasn't alone, had June, would always have Mozzie. But he had had no one, had been alone. And yes, some of the solitude was of his own choosing, but most of it wasn't. No, the people that he trusted the most, they had left him, weren't there, were gone. Had given him little hope that they would be coming back, ever.

And Elizabeth knew Neal well enough to know that the young man would believe that Peter, Mozzie, and ever herself, they were _right_ to leave. That he deserved to be alone, didn't even deserve the loyalty that had remained: June's.

With the resounding thought of '_Well, he's wrong and I'm going to make him realize that_' humming through her, she knocked on the door to room #12 and waited.

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At the knock, Neal tensed, put his book down and came out of his chair but made no move toward the door. These days, he didn't have any friends to drop in for a visit. "Who is it?" he demanded, suddenly wondering why he had chosen a room that didn't have a second way out.

"Elizabeth….Burke," she clarified a second later like Neal might have forgotten the sound of her voice, had a slew of other women named that who would have tracked him down to this desolate motel within his two mile radius.

Though shocked by the identity of his visitor, he couldn't hold back the contemptuous '_Oh great. My 2__nd__ Burke encounter of the day_,' that came to him as he quickly crossed to the door.

Shouting between a couple down the hall snatched Elizabeth's attention as the door opened and Neal demanded, "What are you doing here?" his worry for her safety making his words sharp.

"I came here …" Elizabeth began as she abandoned her fascination with the happenings down the hallway, turned to face the man she had come to see. Her first look of Neal since the warehouse where Keller had kept her hostage, had her exclaiming in shock and concern, "Oh my gosh, Neal! What happened?" hand reaching out toward his bruised, lacerated face. Her fingers had barely skimmed gently over his cheek before Neal skittered back out of her reach.

Unprepared for Elizabeth's actions, for her to offer him a touch of tenderness instead of retribution, Neal retreated back another step, couldn't let her get that close again. Couldn't let anyone get that close again. It only ended badly. For everyone.

"You shouldn't be here," he accused, the quietness of the statement taking some of the sting out of it. He couldn't be rough with Elizabeth, but he could be distant. "Peter certainly wouldn't want you here," he lambasted, stance tensing and his eyes darkening at the thought of what Peter would think, what Peter would do if he knew his wife was talking to him.

Shaken by Neal's abused appearance, hurt a bit by his rejection of her touch, intimidated by the hardness in the usually charming man's words, Elizabeth stammered, " I…I went to June's…. " But she finished strongly, wasn't going to run away, not before she said her peace. "I needed to see you."

"You have to go. I'll walk you out," Neal briskly returned, hated to think of the woman being unprotected in their present, less than safe surroundings. But Elizabeth stepped more fully into the doorway, cut off his exit from the room.

"Well, I'm not leaving before we talk, so are you going to let me in?" Elizabeth put out her ultimatum and prayed Neal didn't shut the door in her face.

"If this is about what happened today…." Neal began, didn't want to rehash his go around with Peter.

"What happened today? Did that?" she carefully asked, pointed to the bruises on his face but making no move to touch him again.

Realizing that Elizabeth hadn't come because of the encounter he had with Peter, didn't even know about it, Neal couldn't help but be curious as to why she was there. Opening the door in an unspoken invitation, he turned away from Elizabeth, paced to the other side of the room. With his back to Elizabeth he closed his eyes, willed himself to keep it together, to not let his mask slip, consoled himself with the knowledge that this would probably be the last act on this tour. That after Elizabeth said what she had come to say, he wouldn't have to pretend again, it would be over. All of it.

When Elizabeth didn't break the silence in the room, Neal, figuring that she was waiting for him to face her before she spoke, slowly spun around…only to find the door open and the room empty. "Elizabeth?" he called out in alarm ran the few steps to the door, afraid that his less than savory neighbors had accosted his visitor. His breath rushed back in as he saw Elizabeth, down the hall…. filling an ice bucket?

"Ah, Elizabeth, the only thing I can offer for refreshments is water. Well, now ice water," Neal quipped as she approached, bucket in hand.

"Then it's a good thing I'm not thirsty," Elizabeth replied, slipping by Neal and entering the room. Sitting the bucket on the dresser, she headed for the bathroom.

"Oh, there's no hot water…" he warned but she didn't close the door, barely ran the water a few seconds before she turned around, exited with a one wet and one dry washcloth in hand.

"Sit down, Neal," she instructed, pointing to the sole chair in the room even as she came to a stop at the dresser.

Though he could hear the tumble of ice cubes being deposited into the washcloth, knew what her intentions were, Neal had a hard time believing he was right. That the woman who had been kidnapped, almost killed because of his deception, because of his need for an adrenaline rush, was really going to play nursemaid to him. Cared that he had taken a few punches. Wasn't silently cheering that someone had done what Peter had been too restrained to do.

Makeshift ice compress in hand, Elizabeth turned around, was surprised to find that Neal hadn't moved, was giving her a stricken look. "Come on, take a seat," she gently coaxed, stepping forward and wrapping her delicate but strong hand around his elbow and steering him to the chair.

Taking a seat, more out of numbness than compliance, he flinched when Elizabeth's fingers slid gently under his chin. But the fingers remained and slowly he allowed them to tilt his face up. But after his initial contact with Elizabeth's gaze, he quickly averted his attention to a spot on the stained ceiling, held back his reaction as she tenderly dabbed the wet washcloth against the worst of his lacerations.

Up close, the damage to Neal's face was painfully obvious. She could put two and two together and get that someone's fist had played a part in the bruises and the places where the skin had been sliced open. Anger simmered in her for whoever had inflicted the wounds on the younger man. She had watched Neal take a few punches before, from Keller, when he came to offer his life for hers. And Keller had just laughed.

Forcing those memories aside, she conversationally mentioned, "Peter doesn't usually get too bruised up but he has a time or two," as she moved onto another cut nestled in with a black and blue montage along his jawline, found herself wincing more at her ministrations than Caffrey was.

Neal remained silent, the only indication that he wasn't a statue was the uncontrolled jump in his jaw.

"Can you tell me how this happened?" she gently asked, wished Neal would look at her, wondered if it was because he hated her, that she had, unintentionally, been the cause of his fractured friendship with Peter.

"Lie detector test. Old school," Neal provided with a hint of his usual charm.

"Did you pass or fail?"

Neal's eyes met Elizabeth's as he answered, "If I had failed I wouldn't be here right now."

Elizabeth fought down a shiver, knew Neal wasn't talking about here in the room, meant alive. He would be dead. Her hand trembled and she pulled it back, crossed back over to the dresser. Peter always down played the danger of his job, but she wasn't a fool. '_But I'm naïve_,' she criticized, knew that Neal wasn't being overdramatic, was simply too raw to shelter her from the truth like he normally would have.

Neal could have died. They could have decided to use a gun on him instead of their fists. '_And Peter would never get over that. Don't know if I would.'_

"You should go," Neal stated to Elizabeth's back, needed her to go before her kindness undid him. "I already ruined my relationship with Peter, you shouldn't put yours at risk too."

And that was where the trouble was. Neal wasn't going to fight for his friendship with Peter, was just writing it off. Was marking it down as another treasure he had had and lost.

Grabbing the makeshift ice compress, Elizabeth headed back to Neal, a Neal that looked so vulnerable that it was hard to not reach out and stroke his hair, tell him things would work out. But she didn't know that. She couldn't make promises that weren't hers to keep. They were Peter's.

Though she pressed the compress lightly against Neal's forehead, he hissed in pain and jerked under her hand.

"I'm sorry!" she sorrowfully apologized, quickly lifting the washcloth away from the wound, and removing her hand from under his chin, hating that she had hurt him more than he already was. '_I wanted to take away some of his pain, not give him more. No wonder he's afraid to let people get close,_' she heartbrokenly concluded, and it didn't help that there wasn't condemnation in Neal's eyes as they held hers, was simple acceptance. Pain he understood, expected, trusted.

"Neal," she rawly entreated, wanted to apologize to him, for so many things, for getting kidnapped in the first place, putting the wedge between he and Peter, for not coming sooner to see him, for thinking that talking to him was akin to betraying Peter.

As if sensing her intentions, Neal sharply ordered, "Don't," his hand catching her wrist, pushing it back. And then he stood up, slipped by her, was crossing to the door. Her words stopped him.

"I came because of Peter. Because what's happened between you and Peter is tearing him apart," Elizabeth admitted, though she had also come for reasons of her own. '_And I needed to know if you were alright, could hold out until Peter's anger faded. But you can't, can you?_' The answer painfully evident by the bruises on the young man's features even more so by the dispirited ache in Neal's eyes the conman couldn't hide. Abandoning the washcloth to the nightstand and beginning to cross over to Neal, she began, "You two need to talk…"

"We did," Neal quietly claimed. At her surprised look, he pulled on a sad smile. "Mostly we yelled. It was very therapeutic."

"And?" Elizabeth prodded, coming to sit on the end of the bed, eyes fixed on Neal's taut figure, she waited, dared to hope.

Uncomfortable under Elizabeth's gaze, Neal moved around the room. "I don't expect us to cross paths again." Said it like it meant nothing to him, didn't crush the last tendril of hope for Peter's forgiveness that he had foolishly clung to.

"And you think that's what Peter wants?" she gently probed, knew that it wasn't, even if Peter himself didn't recognize it.

"Yeah, yeah I do," Neal defiantly shot back, eyes suddenly meeting hers, daring her to refute it.

"And you think June's glad you left? That Mozzie didn't want you to go with him?" Elizabeth gently stated with incredulousness.

A look of alarm flittered across Neal's features at Elizabeth's mention of Mozzie.

Interpreting his panic, Elizabeth stood up and came to Neal, looked up into his eyes and evenly conjectured, "You could have gone with him. He wanted you to, didn't he? Why didn't you go?"

"I don't know what you're talking about…" Neal denied, was ready to slip by Elizabeth but she grabbed his forearm, forestalled his escape. That didn't mean he had to look at her.

"You stayed because of Peter. Because you have a home here, a family," she surmised as much as declared, needed Neal to admit what he had stayed for, what he hadn't been willing to give up. Needed him to fight for what was his, what he hadn't stolen but he had earned from Peter as well as from her: their trust, their loyalty, their love.

But Neal didn't answer. Instead he pulled his arm from her grasp and walked to the door. "I'll walk you to your car."

Defeated, Elizabeth numbly grabbed her purse and walked out the door. Silently they maneuvered down the hallway and out to the parking lot, came to a stop by her car. But when Neal opened the driver's door for her, Elizabeth felt fear and dread take hold of her heart. Couldn't help but wonder if this would be the last time she saw Neal Caffrey.

Instead of getting into the car, Elizabeth rashly stepped forward and hugged Neal, hard. And how she wished that she knew how to ensure he didn't slip away from her, from Peter, from the family they had unknowingly forged three years ago.

Slowly, Neal's arms circled her, gently returned her hug.

"You're not alone, Neal," she vowed, wished she could promise more: that Peter would forgive him, that things would be as they once were, that everything that he had stayed for, it would be there for him again someday. Then she released Neal, got in the car and pulled away. But she didn't look in the rearview mirror, could barely see through her tears to drive. She and Peter had so little family left, had thought that some of what they had lost had been returned to them when Neal came into their lives. And now they were losing him, no, worse than that, they were letting him go.

Swallowing convulsively, Neal watched Elizabeth drive away, knew that she was wrong.

He was very, very alone.

He had bet everything on a gamble and lost more than he could afford to lose. Had thought that he could change, could become worthy of Peter's loyalty and faith in him.

But like Keller had said, there was nothing more pathetic than a con-man conning himself.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the wonderful encouraging reviews on last chapter!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	5. Chapter 5: Van

The Thinnest Strand

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neal, or Peter or any rights to White Collar, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Since your reviews for chapter 4 were so overwhelmingly awesome, I'm going to go ahead and post the next chapter today.

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Chapter 5: Van

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With bags under his eyes, Peter entered the FBI building, knew that his practically non-exist night's sleep was evident even to untrained observers. Even after he and Elizabeth had finished talking, he couldn't shut down his brain, had tossed and turned the entire night.

Part of him thought he should have been mad at Elizabeth for going to see Neal, but the truth was, he had held out hope that she had done what he couldn't, had gotten through to Neal. But the tears that sprang to her eyes after she confessed, '_I went to see Neal'_ told him that she had failed as spectacularly as he did. Well, maybe not as spectacularly, not if there wasn't shouting and threats being tossed around. But the end results had been the same.

After that, Elizabeth had asked him maybe the hardest questions anyone ever had.

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"Do you really want to let him go, Peter? Can you live with that decision if something happens to him? I know what he did, it hurt you, but Peter, doesn't his actions make up for some of that?"

"He lied to me, El. And it almost got you…" Peter broke off, rubbed his hand nervously over his mouth. Couldn't let himself think about that, what he had almost lost, who he had almost lost. "I gave him so many chances…" more heartbreak than condemnation carried in his words. He had practically implored Neal to come clean, had done everything he could to shelter the conman, even though he believed his suspicions were true. He didn't want them to be, wanted to have a way to forgive Neal, to keep intact what they had, their partnership, their friendship.

"He made the right decision in the end, Peter. That has to mean something," Elizabeth insisted, taking her husband's hand in hers, forcing him to turn to her, look at her.

"Neal would never want you hurt, El. I'm not surprised he risked his life to save yours. The point is, he put you at risk in the first place. He took the treasure, was bidding his time to make his big escape…."

"But he didn't leave, Peter," Elizabeth quietly pointed out.

Peter snorted, pulled his hand from Elizabeth's so he could pace the room. "Yeah, because Keller forced his hand before he could get his chance."

"He had his chance." Elizabeth's words had Peter spinning to face her, confusion on his features, prompting her to continue. "Mozzie's gone, Peter. He left the morning _before_ Keller took me."

The pieces fell together so quickly that Peter stammered, "The morning …but…" could recall that terrible day's events in sharp detail. Neal had been off his anklet, it was the reason his CI had been able to go after Keller the next day without raising the alarm.

"You and I both know that Mozzie wouldn't have left without him. Not unless Neal wouldn't go…"

Peter felt his heart thud in his chest. Mozzie was _gone_. Neal had told him he didn't have the treasure to trade for Elizabeth and it had been the truth. It was the reason Neal had made the suicidal decision to trade himself for Elizabeth, tried to anyways. But Keller hadn't taken the deal, would have killed Elizabeth and Neal both if Neal hadn't come out the victor in their fight. Peter fought down a shiver at how badly things could have turned out.

Coming to a stand at Peter's side, Elizabeth looked up into her husband's troubled face. "Neal stayed. He gave up the biggest score any one has ever had, forfeited his freedom, let Mozzie go…because he wanted to stay with you. Because he believed that what he had here, was better than being the richest man on some island."

It was hard to take it all in, was even harder to accept but Peter wanted to. Wanted to believe that Neal hadn't run, hadn't wanted to run, had come to value their friendship like he had. Except how could he ever trust him. "It doesn't wipe clean the fact that he was going to run, that he didn't tell me the truth, that he's still running his con game on me every chance he gets."

Grabbing Peter's hand, Elizabeth tugged him to follow her. They both sank down on the couch and she turned to face him. "Sara asked me if I ever tried to change you, get you to be something other than an FBI agent. And I told her, no, that I knew who you were from the start and it was part of why I loved you. Well, you have to accept that about Neal, too. You admired him for his intelligence, because he was the hardest criminal of your career to catch, because he was the best forger, the smoothest conman, the most charming thief you had ever tracked. Now you want him to not be any of those things."

"No I don't. He needs to be those things to stay alive in our job," Peter refuted, knew that was why he didn't throw up every time Neal went undercover, because the kid was the greatest con man on earth.

"And then you want him to turn them off, be this well behaved FBI agent. But he's not, Peter. He didn't grow up wanting to be an agent, you did. He grew up wanting to outsmart people like you. And he has, will continue to do it because, as much as you think you hate that about him, it's what you also admire about him."

"So, what, I'm sending mixed signals?" Peter asked, not with anger but confusion.

"You have to realize that, what drives you crazy about Neal…it's also what you like best about him. It's who he is."

Peter grudgingly could accept that but he protested, "But he doesn't trust me….doesn't let me in."

"Neal doesn't let anyone in, not fully. He let Kate and Mozzie think that he had the music box, didn't tell Alex that he was working with you, let go of Sara and moved out of June's."

"He moved out of June's?" Peter sharply asked with concern, had hoped June would be there mother henning Neal, fussing over the array of damage on his face, making sure he knew he had a place to call home.

"You have to decide, Peter. Do you want to be angry with him for being what you've always known he is or do you want to prove to him that he wasn't wrong to stay, to make the one decision he thought you would be proud of him for?"

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And Peter knew the answer should be easy, would have been if it hadn't been Elizabeth who had almost paid for Neal being Neal. But even so, his decision was nearly made. Would be as soon as he talked to Neal.

So it wasn't the button to his floor that he pressed in the elevator but Organized Crimes. This couldn't wait and he wasn't all that certain that Neal would agree to meet him if he didn't lay hands on him. They were talking and for once, Neal wasn't going to deflect every question he posed, was going to tell him the truth, even if it put the final nail in the coffin of their friendship.

His eyes scanning the 24th floor array of desks and not finding Neal, he stopped at the first desk he came to, asked, "Where's Neal Caffrey?"

The woman looked up, a bit startled to hear the CI's name said without the usual sneer. "They have an operation."

Peter's gut tightened. Knowing Ruiz, that meant he was somewhere in town, letting Neal take some crazy chances with no hope that backup would even show up if he needed it. Neal was just another piece of office equipment at his disposal, like a pen or a stapler. Ruiz was more likely to mourn their loss than his new CI. '_A CI I gave him_,' Peter guilty concluded but it was more than that. '_I gave him __**Neal**__, to do with him whatever he wanted to.' _

Cursing silently, Peter put his hands on his hips, contemplated his next move. He knew what he wanted to do….Turning to the woman agent, he demanded, "Where's this operation going down?"

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Three heads snapped to the surveillance van's backdoor as it opened, revealed Peter Burke. "Wow, it's cozy in here. You even brought in a space heater," Burke said in greeting, his progress into the van soon halted by an enraged Ruiz.

"What are you doing here, Burke?" the Organized Crime agent in charge snarled, toe to toe with the White Collar agent.

"Came to see how you do things in the OCU," Peter pleasantly supplied but there was a deadliness in his eyes as he continued. "Thought you were having some technical difficulties lately. Way I hear it, you had an agent in trouble and you didn't back him up, microphone must have gone off line."

"Not an agent, a **CI**," Ruiz lowly corrected, didn't back down at Burke's accusation.

Peter forced himself to shrug instead of landing the punch he wanted to, skirted by Ruiz and claimed the man's empty seat. "Well, I thought I'll lend my exceptional hearing to your operation today. We're all on the same team, right Ruiz?" he smiled up at his fuming adversary.

But then a voice echoed in the van, stole Peter's attention: Neal's.

"I thought you weren't home?" Neal's voice reverberated from the surveillance equipment, he sounded calm a little irritated but not afraid.

'_Like Neal would show fear during an operation or to Ruiz_,' Peter silently grumbled, sitting forward in the chair to watch the live feed view of the run-down apartment building across the street where Neal apparently was.

An unfamiliar and unfriendly voice answered Neal's greeting. "Oh, I'm here. Come on in."

Peter tracked the sound of the door shutting, waited for the conversation to continue. But Ruiz spoke before the two men in the apartment did.

"Burke, get out of my chair and out of my van. This is not your operation and Caffrey, he's not your asset. He's mine."

"He's not an asset, _Melvin_, he's a human being," Peter spat, coming out of the chair, his breath hitting the other agent square in the face.

"No, Pete. He's a _pet_ that I let out of his leash to play _bait_ for the other dogs. Like a worm on a hook," Ruiz taunted with a cruel smile, knew that would garner a reaction out of Burke but wasn't prepared for it to be so vehemence.

Peter's fist clipped Ruiz on the jaw, sent the other man tumbling back against the side of the van. Where things would have gone after that? No one knew because the distinct sound of gunfire suddenly emanated from the audio feed.

"Neal!" Peter cried out in fear, shoving an agent aside and reaching for the switch to make the audio a two way radio. "Neal?" he called out. "Neal, answer me!"

More gunfire was his reply but he took refuge in the logic that, if Neal was already dead, they wouldn't be shooting anymore. Then he heard the best sound since hearing Elizabeth's voice come through his phone, saying that she was Ok, that Neal had come and Keller was out of commission.

"Peter?" incredulousness echoed in the breathless voice the mic picked up.

"I'm coming for you. Just hang on!" Peter vowed. Then, grabbing an ear mic, he shoved past Ruiz and exited the van, began running for the apartment building. He raised his eyes to scan the building, wasn't really holding out hope that there would be some visual aid to guide him to Neal. He was about to ask Neal what apartment he was in when he saw something that made him stumbled to a stop, right in the middle of the street. He was utterly oblivious to the two cars that had to lock up their brakes to not run him over.

Peter knew _exactly_ what floor Neal was on. Mostly because Neal was standing on the small, flimsy balcony railing of a sixth floor apartment. "Neal, don't do it!" Peter vehemently commanded, even as his eyes tracking where Neal was looking: to the balcony of the apartment building across the alley. A balcony that was one floor down and twelve feet away from his friend.

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Neal ducked as another shot rang out. "I'm a little out of options, Peter," he shouted back, drew in a steadying breath. Then ran the length of the railing like a trained high wire act ….and jumped into thin air. Even as he pushed off the railing, Neal knew his chances weren't good of crossing the distance, of coming out of this alive. So instead of yelling as he free falled, he said the last words he might ever say to Peter Burke, to the only person who had ever believed that he could be a better man. "I'm sorry I let you down, Peter."

"No!" Peter screamed as he watched Neal arch across the open expansion, knew in his gut that Neal wasn't going to make it. That he was going to be forced to watch helplessly as his best friend fell to his death.

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TBC

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Because no story is complete without at least one cliff hanger…..

I'm loving the support you've all shown for this story so far! And as you can tell by the TBC, this story isn't getting wrapped up before the new episode airs. I hope some of you still tune in after it ends up being AU.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	6. Chapter 6: Balcony

The Thinnest Strand

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neal, or Peter or any rights to White Collar, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 6: Balcony

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So instead of yelling as he free falled, Neal said the last words he might ever say to Peter Burke, to the only person who had ever believed that he could be a better man. "I'm sorry I let you down, Peter."

"No!" Peter screamed as he watched Neal arch across the open expansion, knew in his gut that Neal wasn't going to make it. That he was going to be forced to watch helplessly as his best friend fell to his death.

But against all odds, Neal's aim seemed to be true.

"He's going to reach the other balcony," Peter told himself, half in awe and half in terrified optimism, as he numbly crossed the street, his eyes fixed above, on the one man who had the knack of pulling off the impossible.

It was almost too late when Neal realized that he wasn't going to clear the railing, instead was going to hit it, **hard.** Knew that, there was a good chance he would lose consciousness, making his victory null and void. Gritting his teeth, he prepared for impact even as he reached out, intended to grab onto the railing for dear life, literally.

But his hands never wrapped around the railing. Falling faster than Peter drove his car in New York traffic, he slammed, chest high, into the sharp corner of the railing. Lungs, motor skills, consciousness, it all nearly shut down. And then he dropped like a stone.

"Neal!" Peter screamed, hope turning into horror as Neal tumbled lifelessly from the 5th story balcony. Running to the alley, he shouted for all he was worth, "Neal!" prayed that he could rouse the younger man, could do something other than seek out something that could cushion his friend's fall, than contemplate trying to catch Neal like he was his five year old son jumping into his arms.

A voice screaming in his ear broke through Neal's haze of pain, a voice that he had been trained, for the past three years, to obey, a voice that he trusted. A voice that was demanding something of him, warning him of something. Needed something from him.

Opening his eyes, seeing the sickening rush of scenery flying by, he could barely determine wall from railing. Instinctively reaching out with his left hand for what didn't look like brick, his descent came to an abrupt stop, nearly dislocated his shoulder in the process. He let out a cry of pain and surprise when the railing, unpredictably, dropped another three inches, protested the added strain by starting to work its way loose of its foundation.

Peter, heart pounding, legs weak, took a stumbling step forward as Neal's second miraculous landing seemed doomed to still end in tragedy. Coming to a stand almost directly under Neal, he watched his friend precariously dangle one handedly from a deteriorating balcony four stories up. Let the panic win out for a moment before the FBI agent in him took over, got him moving, running for the entrance of the building. "Neal, just don't move. I'm coming to you."

His hand fisted around the cold iron of the railing, Neal closed his eyes in relief as Peter's promise washed over him. He didn't want to die. He knew that now. '_Now when it's practically too late_,' he bitterly recognized. '_On all accounts_.' Because there wasn't much left in his life that he hadn't destroyed. Yes, Peter was there, but Peter even valued the life of murderers, had refused to leave Kent behind even when every second they waited could have meant Peter's death by the poison.

So Peter trying to save him, he knew not to take it personally.

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Bounding up the stairs, offering up a prayer with each step, Peter blamed himself for this, for Neal being with Ruiz's group, for being backed into a corner with no escape, for being moments away from dying. Neal had kept secrets, yes. Dangerous secrets. But like El had said, that was who Neal was.

And as much as Peter touted that he wanted Neal to change, in truth, he only wanted Neal to change when it came to their relationship. Wanted Neal to lie smoothly to the criminals…but never to him. To outsmart the rest of the world, not him. Wanted Neal's cons to be an undercover assignment, not his way of life. But Neal wasn't a man living two lives, he was a man just trying to survive everything life threw at him.

'_Of course Neal also wanted to come away with a few trinkets for his efforts_,' Peter ruefully thought. But there was less censure in that knowledge than there usually was, maybe because at that moment, Peter knew he would _help_ Neal with his next heist if it meant the younger man hadn't left him, didn't die.

Slamming through the fourth floor door, Peter turned left, was already mentally calculating which apartment's balcony Neal was on by the number of doors from the west wall. Pounding on the door of his elected apartment, he shouted, "FBI, open up! Now!" But when two seconds passed with no noise and no sliding of the lock on the door, he warned, "This is an emergency! Open up or I'm coming in."

Then the heavenly sound of a bolt lock being turned sounded. He nearly knocked over the elderly man who opened the door as he barged into the room, ran for the far wall, pulled back the curtain and stepped out onto the balcony. And found no Neal.

For a heart stopping moment, he thought he was too late. Until a pained, breathless but mocking voice came surround sound from the mic in his ear _and_ from his left.

"Satchmo has a better sense of direction…."

Peter's head snapped to the balcony of the next room over and then down, until his eyes latched possessively onto Neal Caffrey's pale face. Cursing, Peter spun around, ran from the room and down the hall. He didn't even bother with pleasantries, simply kicked in the door of the apartment that came furnished with one suspended con-man on the balcony and barreled inside, was sliding the glass door aside without having taken notice if the apartment was occupied.

But his first step until the rickety terrace had disastrous results, caused the balcony to pull further away from the wall. Immediately, Peter froze, didn't dare misplace his weight, but his eyes held Neal's through the iron bars of the railing. "Whoa. Don't move," wasn't sure if he was telling Caffrey that or himself.

Neal's intense gaze held Peter's. "I don't think that's an option," and he purposefully dropped his eyes to the open expansion below him. Knew that, some people had survived falls from that height but today, today he wasn't filling particularly lucky.

Peter's strident tone recaptured Neal's attention. "You're not going to fall!" '_I'm not going to __let__ you fall_!' he vowed as he slid his foot forward, grimaced as the railing creaked under his and Neal's combined weight.

"Peter don't!" Neal shouted, well, tried to shout anyway, but his diminished lung capacity had it coming out as a wheezed plea.

"I'll move slow," Peter explained, edging his other foot forward, gaining the middle of the four foot balcony. He clenched his jaw as the balcony dropped another half inch.

"Go back, Peter!" Neal ordered in alarm, was starting to accept his fate but wouldn't consign his best friend to it. "Get off the balcony!"

"I will when you do," Peter returned evenly, concentrating on moving again, determined to close in the distance that separated him from his friend, knew that the difference between him losing Neal or saving him was two lousy feet.

But when Peter's weight came to rest a foot away from the railing, the balcony frame bent, caused the FBI agent to fall forward, to slam into the railing…. but thankfully not go over it. Peter's next thought after his relief that he wasn't free falling, was of Neal. "Neal!" he shouted, edging forward even further needing to catch a glimpse of a Devore suit, praying that Neal was still there, that the younger man's hold hadn't been dislodged.

Eyes latching onto the top of his friend's bowed head, to the conman's left hand that hadn't let loose of the railing, Peter breathed out in heartfelt relief, "Neal" even as he thanked God for Neal Caffrey's tenacity. "Ok, I'm going to reach for you…"

"No," Neal softly refuted. Then he found the strength to look up, to meet Peter's eyes. "The balcony won't hold, Peter."

"Then I'll get something to tie around you…" Peter began to plan but he didn't move, couldn't move, knew that turning around meant leaving Neal alone, and he had done that enough, for far too long.

"No," Neal delivered with resolve.

Peter's heart dropped at the look in his friend's eyes, at the decision he knew Neal was making. Was making for them both, without his permission, would never be with his consent. "NO!" Peter harshly objected, even as he dropped to his knees, shoved his hand through the railing, made a desperate grab for Neal before the other man could put his plan into action, could let go in some stupid notion of heroics.

But Neal was quicker than he was, like he seemed to always be. Had already left go, of the last hand hold he had on the railing, …and on his life.

Nevertheless, Peter had caught Neal every time he tried to get away….and now was no exception. He caught the conman…sort of. Managed to snag the sleeve of Caffrey's costly suit only, but he held on tight. The menacing sound of a rent in the suit was akin to a scream, had him shouting, "Grab my hand!" Though his face was pressed against the bars of the railing making him blind to what was playing out below his line of sight, Peter could almost picture the defiant set to Caffrey's jaw.

"I am not leaving you, Neal," Peter stanchly announced even as his arm burned under the strain of supporting Caffrey's weight. "So we either both leave this terrace the civilized way….or the hard way. I _prefer _civilized."

Feeling the balcony shift under him again, seeing that the wall was beginning to crumble where the balcony was breaking free, Neal began to implore, "Peter, let me…."

"No," Peter growled, would not let Neal go, had been fooling himself to think he ever could. "We're in this together."

"This isn't '_Backdraft_'. You go ..we go," Neal bit out, growing desperate to break the ties, to save Peter, anyway that he could.

"I'm hoping this has a better ending…." Peter said, trying to get a better hold on the fabric in his left hand even as his right hand blindly sought to find a piece of Neal to grab onto.

"Betrayal usually only ends one way," Neal sorrowfully conjectured. And he had betrayed Peter, had betrayed El and Mozzie and Sara and Alex and Kate and June. He betrayed everyone he had ever met. And there were prices to be paid. Prices he alone had to pay.

"Not in my book," Peter insisted, and then his right hand found what it had been searching for, coiled around Neal's hand and held on tight. "Not for us. We rewrote the book, Neal. It's what we do. It's why we are still here, why El is still here…and why I won't let you go. We tend to make our own rules, thought you of all people knew that."

"Peter..' Neal began, touched by Peter's words but still not willing to risk Peter's life in an ill attempt to save his own skin. Not again. Never again.

"Talk later, climb now," Peter urgently coached, even as he started to inch backwards, pull Caffrey up, moaned at the pull on his muscles, shut out the creaking of the failing balcony. Didn't stop until Neal's hand was through the bars, until he forcibly wrapped Neal's hand around the nearest iron bar. Then, when he was certain Neal wouldn't let go, he stood up, leaned over the railing and slid his hand under Neal's shoulder.

"Ok, you gotta help me here. On three," he said before he started his count off and when he pulled on Neal's shoulder and Caffrey levered himself up the railing. Neither man stopped, not even when the balcony's frame crumbled further, was more vertical than horizontal. They didn't stop until Neal was over the railing and had tumbled into Peter's arms, arms that didn't let him fall, that pulled him back from the ledge, onto solid ground.

Peter wasn't sure whose idea it was to sink to their knees inside the safe confines of the apartment but he didn't protest, nor did he loosen his grip on Neal, kept the man tucked up against his chest, safe. "Don't ever do that again," Peter threatened but his voice was a raw travesty of its usual timbre.

Too drained to even raise his head from Peter's chest, Neal tiredly admitted, "I didn't really… want to do it ….in the first place."

Peter cringed at Neal's muffled, breathless response. It was proof enough that he might have saved Neal from falling but not from getting hurt. Putting a bracing hand on Neal's shoulder, Peter extricated himself from Neal far enough to run an examining gaze down his partner's lithe frame. Suspiciously, he moved the suit jacket aside. Instantly, he drew in a sharp breath at the sight of blood ruining Neal's crisp blue pin striped shirt, the jagged hole in the fabric…and the rip in Neal's flesh.

Curiosity overriding exhaustion, Neal followed Peter's horrified gaze, figured out why his chest hurt like it had an ice pick jammed in it. "I think I got points taken off for my landing…." he slurred.

"Shhhh," Peter gently soothed, "Don't talk…" Then he brought his hand up to press on the wound, to stop the welling blood.

"You said I… could talk later…" Neal protested weakly, hardly noticed when Peter shifted positions, came and sat beside him and pulled him into a lean against his shoulder. All that registered with Neal was the fact that he wasn't alone, that Peter was there.

"Later's not now," Peter quietly returned, felt like he was arguing with a sleepy kid who didn't want to be put to bed. He knew he should reach for his phone, call an ambulance, but hated to shift Neal. Then he heard the sirens, knew that Ruiz had at least done that much right.

As much as Neal wanted to not question the gift of his friend's presence, his nature was not one of complacency. Rolling his head, he met Peter's eyes, had to know one thing before he could accept all this as a win. "Why did you come, Peter?"

Peter wasn't prepared to have Neal's sharp yet pain dulled eyes settle on him but the question? It wasn't unexpected. He had posed it to himself. And had come to the conclusion he knew he always would when it came to Neal. "Because you're worth it," he confessed, a tired but honest smile tipping up his lips, loved the surprised, affected expression his declaration garnered from his best friend's usually well-schooled, cryptic features. "Now, no talking…."

But there was too much to say, too much left unsaid for too long. "Peter…" Neal started, didn't know how to say everything he wanted to say. How did you thank someone for not only saving your life, but for saving your soul, too?

"You're welcome," Peter responded to the look in Neal's eyes, to the vulnerability in his friend's utterance of his name. He didn't need to hear the words to know the sentiment. Reading the acceptance and gratitude in Neal's eyes, he tightened his hold on Neal and wondering when high wire acts and miracles had become the normal, and how he had lived without them, without _Neal_ for the past month. "And just so we are clear, I will put you under house arrest if you ever pull another stunt like this."

"Hey, I almost made it…" Neal protested, but his head was sinking farther against Peter's shoulder as the pain grew and his adrenaline faded.

"Almost isn't good enough," Peter shot back, knew that it would never be good enough if it cost him his partner. "I'm not going to break in another partner…."

"I know, because the paperwork's a killer…." Neal provided, his voice turning weaker.

Appreciating his wounded friend's efforts at levity, Peter laughed and rested his chin on Neal's bowed head for a second. "I might have exaggerated about the paperwork, didn't want you to actually think I liked working with you."

"It'll be our little …" Neal broke off, had almost said secret, knew now better than ever before how Peter felt about secrets.

"I punched Ruiz," Peter bluntly confessed. "I think it's out of the bag how attached I am to you, Neal."

Shocked, Neal couldn't help but lift his head and look at his friend, struggled a bit to get the words out. "Peter, I'm not sure what… I love more….. That you saved me from certain death …today …or that you inflicted physical harm…. on Ruiz."

"Well, relish it because you'll probably be on a one mile radius while I'm out on suspension," Peter joked, even as he knew he wouldn't undo his assault on Ruiz, only wished he had done it sooner. "Now, what did I say about the talking…." he gently scowled, nearly smirked at Neal's trade mark glower. But when his partner fell compliantly silent and rested his head back on his shoulder, Peter's worry spiked. Neal rarely gave in so easily.

'_Just keep hanging on Neal. I still got you and, like I said, we're in this together from here on out,_' he silently vowed, didn't loosen his grip on the kid that was more like a brother to him than anyone else on the planet. Not until the paramedics came. And even then, his hand found its way around Neal's ankle, stayed there as the paramedics hoisted their precious cargo down the apartment building's four flight of stairs. Needed Neal to know he was there, that he wasn't alone.

And it was ironic that his grip was right where Neal's tracking anklet usually was, that the connection that had once only meant bondage and distrust, it now meant brotherhood. That, though his bond with Neal had frayed to the thinnest of stands, it had still held together under the worst pressure, had proven itself strong enough to keep them _both_ from falling. And that was worth more than some priceless Nazi treasure, any day of the week.

Climbing into the ambulance, taking a seat on the spare bed, Peter rested his hand on Neal's head. When he watched the panic in Neal's eyes morph to relief as the younger man registered his presence, Peter knew that he was right where he was supposed to be. That sometimes the best things in life, they just dropped out of the sky.

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The End….?

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Thanks for your generous, fun, inspiring reviews, tagging this as a favorite and for just spending time with this story!

I'm considering adding an epilogue to give some comfort time to the harm I inflicted on poor Neal. I would love it you would let me know if that's something you would want to read.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


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